


No Regrets

by Alexnado



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6688822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexnado/pseuds/Alexnado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A supposedly easy job goes wrong, and a criminal misfit suddenly finds himself surrounded by lies, soldiers, and big expectations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Regrets

Lights, dim lights. Blurred. 

He looked up, trying to figure out where he was, but his eyes were unable to focus so he had to rely on what he could feel, hear. He made an attempt to look around despite the biting pain in his neck, to mentally list down what he assumed was around him. Light, from torches. Stone, cold. There was a door in front of him, only visible thanks to the light creeping through the cracks. Light from outside. That meant it was day, that was one thing. What else? Breathing, that meant he wasn't alone. 

Soldiers, or guards. More than one. Did they have swords? Not unlikely. It was obvious that he had been arrested, but for what? Normally when he found himself in jail, he could at least remember why, but his mind was blank. Remember dammit, remember. Talking. Discussing. Plans. Plans? Yvon was there. They were going somewhere, together. Him and Yvon. Where was he? The headache got worse.

“Oh fuck...” 

His voice was unusually croaky, exhausted, and the words almost came out more as a whisper, a groan. He wanted to cover his face with his hands, but the handcuffs were in the way. Handcuffs? Shit. The metal was heavy, and bit into his wrists. It hurt. His hand hurt. Everything hurt, that was probably why he only now noticed that he was handcuffed.. He glanced down on his hands. Why would it hurt? Something was wrong, and he had to squint to get a clear look. A cut? It was large, red, and spread across the palm of his left hand. Injuries like that happens when you work with sharp objects, but this wasn't an injury like that. It didn't bleed. Or did it? It got darker all of a sudden, the pain increased too. Light. Green light.

“What-”

A burst of brightness and pain cut him off, forcing him to close his eyes and turn away his head. He swore under his breath, and opened a single eye, trying to get a hold of what just happened. When the worst was over, he squinted again, inspecting his hand further. That was not supposed to happen, but he didn't get to think too long about it before the door was slammed open. 

Light was tossed into the room, making everything more blurry, and his eyes hurt even more. It was a challenge, but he managed to sit up, mostly driven by the shock from the suddenly forcefully opened door. A woman. She was tall, sharp, dark, and just like the guards she was carrying a sword. Did she kick the door in? It sounded like it. The bright light fromt the doorway made it hard to see her face, but judging from her heavy footsteps she was surely not in a good mood. Someone was behind her, another woman. Hooded. Something red, presumably her hair. Her steps were lighter, less violent. He didn't get to check if she was carrying a weapon before his thoughts were interrupted once again, this time by a voice, too close to his ear.

“Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now.”

A tough question, for which he would have had a funny answer if his body didn't feel like he had gotten thrown off a horse several times in a row, and then stepped on by the same horse. The one with the sword walked around him with intimidating steps, circling, glaring. He was going to answer her, but she had no patience apparently. 

“The conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead.” 

She stopped in front of him, and pointed a finger at his face. 

“Except for you.”

She smelled like dust and dirt, but also something else. Sweat? No, that wasn't her. His eyes locked on her glove, it had metal on it, decorations, they were shining in the light from the torches. Her face was lit up too, bright red. Her expression was tight, serious, almost scary. But only almost. He nearly forgot what she had said, being distracted by her glove and her face and the torches. The conclave. He was there. Dead. Everyone. Yvon. He was there too, they went together. He let out a gasp. His silence must have annoyed the woman with the sword, because she quickly grabbed his hand and pulled it towards herself.

“Explain this.”

His hand flared up again, this time brighter, but less painful. He would have fallen over in surprise if it hadn't been for the tight grip she had on him, and she didn't feel like she was planning on letting go. And yet she did. The moment his hand stopped glowing, she pushed it back into his lap. How was he supposed to explain it? Hands don't glow. Mage hands glow, but he had hardly ever even seen a mage. All he knew was that up until now, his hands had behaved as normal as hands can do.

“I don't even know what it is.”

His voice was still croaky, but lighter this time, lighter than usual. He wasn't afraid, he was just shocked. That's what he kept telling himself at least. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Her voice got lighter too, but also more violent. Was she afraid too? No, she was carrying a sword, she had no reason to fear.

His answer obviously hadn't been satisfactory, because she quickly leaned down, and grabbed his collar tightly, pulling him close. Shit, she was strong, and she did smell like sweat. Maybe they both did. Who wouldn't sweat in a situation like this?

“You're lying!”

Her face being close to his meant that her voice was loud, too loud. She shook him by the collar and reached for her sword. She would probably have stabbed him if she hadn't been pulled aside and stopped. The other woman, with the hood. She had been quiet until now, so quiet that he thought she had left.

“We need him, Cassandra.”

Her voice was soft, but authoritarian. She meant what she said. Cassandra. That would be the woman with the sword. Cassandra backed away, and made room for her associate. Her hair was indeed red, much like his own, but less bright. She wasn't carrying any weapons, that was a relief. Something told him she wouldn't be as rough. The two women exchanged a few glances, and he was starting to get impatient. 

“So, what now?”

A simple question, easy to answer. At least he thought so. He was still in pain, and the confusion wasn't making things better, so he wanted answers. 

“Do you remember what happened?”

The one with the red hair again. Answering his question with another question, a harder one too. Did he remember? All he could remember was Yvon, and parts of the plan. Listen to the talks, don't cause trouble, head straight back with information when done. Easy. Yvon had been sent with him to make sure trouble wouldn't happen. And yet it did, it always did. His head still hurt, he felt sick. If he puked on the floor he'd probably get stabbed, so he had to work to avoid that happening. 

“I don't remember shit.”

He kept it short, so he wouldn't have to keep his mouth open for too long. He could feel the bread from earlier and wanted to let it out so badly, but remembered the swords, and took a deep breath instead. And as if she had read his mind, Cassandra scoffed. That was provoking, so he couldn't keep his mouth shut anyways.

“Look at me.” 

He wiggled his shoulders, intending to direct attention to his face, but ended up just looking silly instead. The handcuffs again. They were so tight, why?

”Do I look like someone who could destroy an entire conclave?” 

He really didn't, but Cassandra didn't seem to want to answer his question, so she made a grimace that signaled exactly that. Instead of answering him, she turned around towards the one with the red hair.

“This is useless. Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.”

Useless, she said. Useless. Maybe she should try and wake up all screwed and with memory loss, and then see how she felt. She also mentioned a rift. The rift. Was she going to kill him for real this time? Leliana left, and he hastily planned his escape. If he ran fast enough, he could get out of the door before it was locked again. But the guards, and the swords. Who knew how many more swords and guards waited for him outside? He decided that if he had to die, he should at least make an attempt to get away first. He was almost ready to get up, when Cassandra got down on one knee in front of him, and removed the handcuffs, replacing them with some rope to hold his hands together. As if that was any better.

“What is your name?”

The easiest question he had been asked so far. Her voice was lower now, much nicer. She was kneeling in front of him, holding the handcuffs in a way that made it look like she was ready to knock him out with them if he tried anything funny. He couldn't decide if he should make something up, and stick to his run-away plan, or just trust her. He flipped a coin, or he at least imagined that he did. It made it easier somehow.

“Harold. That's my name.”

Cassandra squinted at him, and he squinted back. She didn't believe him, did she? Too bad. Maybe he should try running anyways. His hands were almost free and he could probably push Cassandra over as she was right now. No. She stopped squinting, and nodded shortly instead. What did that even mean? She got up, and held out a hand. Was he supposed to grab it? Was it a trick? He could always run, just in case. He grabbed Cassandra's hand, and she pulled him up. A bit too fast, but now he was standing on his feet, and he could cover his face with his hands as much as he pleased. And he did, while groaning loudly. Everything still hurt, and the quick ascent didn't make things less awful. He could feel the bread again, but he chose to ignore it this time. His voice felt more stable now, so he took the liberty to ask more questions. He thought he deserved at least a few answers.

“Do you know what happened?”

Cassandra seemed to think about her answer. Didn't she know either? He hoped he did, or else they'd be royally screwed.

“I know some things, but,”

She paused herself, and nodded towards the door. Harold hoped she was going to say more, and not just leave him with a vague answer like that.

“It will be easier to show you.”

Less vague, but he hadn't gotten any less confused. It still wasn't too late to run, so going with her wouldn't hurt, right? He took a few wobbly steps before he got control over his legs. Cassandra stood ready to catch him in case he fell. It was a bit awkward, but it worked out. He followed her through the door, and the moment he set foot outside, he was blinded again. His eyes had gotten used to the dark and the torches, so natural sunlight came as a surprise. What was more surprising was the sky. Bright green. Bright. Green? There it was, the rift Cassandra mentioned. Big and ugly. He stood there, looking at it, mouth open and everything.

“We call it the Breach. It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.”

Cassandra was talking, also looking at the big green abomination. She turned around to face him. Harold wanted to turn around too. He wanted to turn around and go home, but he was surrounded by people. People with swords.

“It's not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

Did she seriously just tell him that there was more than one of those things? She had to be joking. He hoped she was joking. He also wanted to say something, but no swear words could get his feelings across just right, so he just made a face instead, glaring at the sky.

“Unless we act now, the Breach may grow till it swallows the world.”

A loud noise silenced her before she could say anything else. The Breach acted up, exploded or something. Harold's hand too, a blast of pain struck through his entire arm, and forced him on his knees with a shriek. He watched his hand glow, bright and green. He watched it do that, and he could do nothing about it. Cassandra knelt down in front of him, the same way she had done it earlier, but less threatening this time. She pointed a finger at the sky.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you.”

Those were the last words he needed to hear right now. He had green demon shit drilled into his hand and it was killing him.

“You're kidding me, right?”

He didn't feel like throwing up anymore, but it would have been an appropriate reaction right now. What was the chance that she was lying? What would she even get out of that? Harold couldn't think of any good reasons, he just sat there, on the ground, with his mouth open wider than before. 

“It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn't much time.”

That was hope right there. A tiny bit of hope. 

“I don't really have a choice, do I?”

He chuckled to himself, even though it wasn't funny. Maybe if he laughed, it wouldn't seem so weird. Cassandra wasn't laughing, she just looked at him, eyebrows furrowed.

“None of us have a choice.”

She got up, and held out a hand once again. He got pulled up, and took a moment to pull himself together before Cassandra dragged him through an ocean of people. They all watched them as they passed, judging, glaring. You'd think they'd pay more attention to the demon-hole in the sky, but they didn't. All eyes were on him, and he wondered again if it was too late to run now.


End file.
